The Courage to Create
“Do You Have the Courage to Create? Do you have the courage to bring forth this work? This is the central question upon which all creative living hinges.”
Acrylic painting of a blue bird done by Kelsey J. Lawrence, 2024.
Elizabeth Gilbert asks this in the book I’m currently reading, Big Magic, recommended to me by my esthetician who keeps my eyebrows looking amazing. It’s a question that’s stuck out because until recently, I did not have the courage to share my creative pursuits. In fact, I’m still very uncomfortable sharing my art and I was riddled with anxiety when I hit “send” on my last blog post announcing that I’m writing a novel.
In her book, Gilbert lists the endless reasons people avoid being creative, and nearly all of them resonated with me:
Afraid I have no talent.
Afraid I’ll be rejected, criticized, ridiculed, misunderstood, or worst of all, ignored.
Afraid I won’t be taken seriously.
Afraid my dreams are embarrassing.
Afraid of being exposed as a hack or a fraud.
Afraid my best work is behind me.
Afraid I neglected my creativity for so long that I’ll never get it back.
Afraid I’m too old to start.
Fear is a bottomless pit. But as Gilbert says, fear is also boring.
Making the Choice to Create
I’ve always loved being creative.
I’ve always dreamed of being an artist. But I was never “good” at drawing or painting and I never felt like I had the time to practice or really try.
I’ve always dreamed of writing a novel. Writing was something I excelled at, but I never made time to do it creatively or for myself. By the time I was done at work, which over the decades consisted of producing newscasts, digital content, or creating corporate communications strategy, the last thing I wanted to do at the end of the day was write—or even think about writing for that matter.
The time to practice my art or write creatively would’ve been there had I prioritized it—but I just didn’t–I couldn’t. When I worked full time, I never felt like I was–or could be–in a creative place or mindset. I was exhausted.
Then I had my son, Parks. And when I chose to forgo the traditional 9-to-5, I finally asked myself: What would make me happy? If I could do anything, what would it be?
The answer was simple: Be creative.
I wanted to do something that pulled me away from scrolling my phone or binge-watching reality TV. Something that made those mindless activities feel boring in comparison. That’s when I started drawing, painting, and reading more during Parks’ nap times. These things grounded me, brought me joy, and made me feel more present in my life.
And then something unexpected happened—I started waking up at 5 a.m. just to have more time.
The 5 A.M. Club
I’ve always been a morning person, but my mornings used to be filled with getting to the gym before work. Now, I wake up early because I want to. Because it’s the quietest, most peaceful part of the day. At 5 a.m., no one is texting, no one needs anything from me, and nothing can ruin my day except my own thoughts and actions.
That early morning stillness has become the foundation of my creative practice. It’s the time I’ve carved out to honor the creative life I’ve always wanted–but never realized I could live.
After a few months of this, I actually came across an entire book about joining The 5 A.M. Club. It was a fun one to read, especially having already “joined the club” myself. Maybe I’ll blog about that another day.
Sharing It With the World
Like I mentioned earlier, sharing my art has been insanely scary. I started out sharing my sketches simply because I was proud of them. That part wasn’t scary. I was proud of what I’d learned to do in a short amount of time–when I’d finally started making the time. I was proud to realize that I might actually have some creative talent. Then I got my first commission request. That’s when I realized, hey, maybe people will like my art enough to help me offset this exceedingly expensive hobby.
However, as I started offering up commissions, I worried that people would think I’m a fraud or desperate. I’m so new at this—why would anyone want to buy my art? But I put it out there anyway. When I started putting it out there and sold several commissions, I realized that nobody knows what I’m doing unless I share it. And if they don’t care or they think I’m a terrible artist or a sad, desperate, stay-at-home mom, then that’s fine. They can move along and focus their energy on whatever it is that makes them happy. I’m happy creating—and even if nobody buys my art, I love doing it enough that I’m still going to create it.
Sharing the fact that I’m writing a novel was even scarier. I’m committed to the project, but I knew that sharing it meant there was no turning back. What was even scarier was that sharing it meant I will have to follow through and let people read it when it’s finished. It’s no longer something I will be able to keep locked up in my Google Drive pretending I didn’t write if it doesn’t turn out the way I want it to. Sharing it could lead to judgment and criticism. Embarrassment and regret.
But it could also lead to connection. To inspiration. To proving to myself that I can do this. And someday in the (hopefully) not-so-distant future, I’ll finally be able to check the “write a novel” box off my bucket list. Maybe I’ll enjoy the process so much that I’ll do it again. I won’t know unless I try.
Choosing Creativity Every Day
Fear still lingers, but I’ve stopped letting it drive. For me, creativity is about showing up, doing the work, and finding joy in the process—not just in external validation. I may not be the best, but I’m creating, and it’s been so much fun. If someone doesn’t like it, that’s fine! They can keep scrolling! If you’re reading this blog, it likely means that you signed up for my newsletter. And in that case, thank you for your support. It truly means a lot to me.
I’ll close with this one last idea from Gilbert’s Big Magic that really just sums it all up for me.
“You made it [art], you get to put it out there. Never apologize for it. Never explain it away. Never be ashamed of it. You did your best with what you knew, and you worked with what you had in the time you were given. You were invited. And you showed up. And you simply cannot do more than that…
…They might throw you out [of the party], but then again, they might not … The ballroom is often more welcoming and supportive than you could ever imagine. Somebody might even think you’re brilliant and marvelous. You might end up dancing with royalty. Or, you might just end up having to dance alone in the corner of the castle. That’s fine too. Sometimes it’s like that. But what you absolutely must not do, is turn around and walk out. Otherwise you will miss the party and that would be a pity because we did not come all this great distance and make all this great effort only to miss the party at the last moment.”